


Silvery White Ribbons

by melwil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melwil/pseuds/melwil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius liked to wear a ribbon in his hair</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silvery White Ribbons

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2003

The ribbons were his mother's fault.

She had thought he was going to be a girl. She wasn't entirely to blame for thinking this: the finest fortune tellers and experts in divination had all told her to expect a baby girl. She couldn't help but believe them.

Maybe it was just a case of wishful thinking.

He felt her disappointment from the moment he was old enough to know what disappointment was. She went a little insane every time she looked at him, insisted on buying him rag dolls dressed up as witches and frilly sets of robes. She called him Lucy when she thought his father wouldn't hear her. . .

Father didn't approve of Mother at all.

In his mind, the most suitable place for her would have been St. Mungos. A mental ward, where she could wile away the years playing with meaningless muggle crafts. But everyone knew that the medi-wizards in St. Mungos were less than discreet.

And nothing must spoil the Malfoy name.

The only feminine persuasions tolerated by his father were Lucius' long hair and the hair ribbons employed to hold it back.

When he was a child he would sit in front of his mother so she could comb out his hair. She adored it, brushing at least one hundred times every evening. She said that the brushing would make his hair shiny - she loved shiny hair.

Lucius liked it because she was never disappointed with him when she was brushing out his hair.

The first ribbon she ever gave him was a shimmering, silvery white. She tied it firmly around his baby fine, blond curls, cooing as she twisted the ends into a perfect bow. ('A bow is better when it is tied with love . . .')

"You can be a Malfoy in every other way," she muttered, curling the ends of the bow around her fingers. "But this, this is my family colour and I know you'll always wear it with pride and dignity."

He didn't. In fact, he avoided it at every possible moment. He preferred an austere black, or a blood red, or, as soon as he was sorted at Hogwarts, ribbons of green and silver.

He told his mother that silvery white didn't suit his complexion.

No one in Slytherin dared to mock his long hair or his hair ribbons. Lucius' father was a legendary and forbidding figure in the dungeons, his influence carried long after his departure. Crossing his son would be a foolish, dangerous thing to do.

In time, Lucius was known for his ribbons.

As his magical skills increased, he would apply intricate charms and spells to the thin pieces of material. Most of his charms had a twist in them, a little something that his teachers wouldn't approve of, a little bit of darkness.

He knew that darkness was the path he would follow. It lurked in the teachings of his father, lessons learnt the hard way in the dank corners of the Malfoy family cellars. It was in the way the Sorting Hat yelled "SLYTHERIN" before it got anywhere near his head. It was in the way he wore his pristine black hair ribbons, alway neat, always tidy, always laden with magics of the very darkest kind.

Darkness was the legacy of his family, inherited from his father, nurtured and developed so he could pass it on to his own son.

Narcissa understood the pull of darkness, the way it sparkled and danced until you grabbed at it with mind and heart wide opened. She was from a dark family herself, a family even more secretive than the Malfoys. She was his perfect wife.

It didn't matter that he didn't love her. Love was nothing but a weakness when it came to the darkness.

Love was what destroyed his mother.

Love and a silvery white hair ribbon.

He fingered his collection early in the morning, anxious to find a ribbon that would suit his mood. He wouldn't settle for just any old ribbon, after all, it was a special day, a day required special attention.

The black ribbon wouldn't do. Nor would the green, the silver or the red. Not even the sky blue ribbon, the gift of an overly stupid admirer, would suit his purposes.

He would have to go shopping - he needed a silvery white ribbon to tie around his hair.

He always celebrated the day his mother died.


End file.
